


Solitary Vice

by vampiretimes



Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: Canon-Typical Non-Consent, Dream Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual in General, Panic Attacks, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22170460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampiretimes/pseuds/vampiretimes
Summary: “That night then?”“I slept.”“You dreamed.”“He is with Mina. He is with Mina, until he is not.”Jonathan acts on his desire after a stressful realization, but the solitary vice he believes he is engaging in may not be so solitary after all.
Relationships: Count Dracula/Jonathan Harker, Jonathan Harker/Mina Murray (mentioned)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 175





	Solitary Vice

**Author's Note:**

> In which Jonathan realizes he's a prisoner in Dracula's castle and freaks out, but jacks off anyway because what else can you really do! Mark me down as scared and horny! Please mind the tags.

“That night then?  
“I slept.”  
“You dreamed.”

\--

He is with Mina. They are in bed together. Her long pale hair streaming in tresses, she is looking down on him and he rises to meet her. Her skin is soft, flushed pink. He longs to be home in her arms, in his own bed (or hers), feeling her warmth.

He is with Mina, until he is not. The face shifts. He screams.

He jolts awake, then, panting hard. He feels as if he’ll be sick. The Count’s face, horrible to behold, usurping the role of his sweet Mina… A wave of disgust passes over him. But he cannot deny that the effect of the former part of the dream is still making itself evident. His whole body feels hot, full of energy. His longing and his fear mingle; the sharp awakening from sound sleep has left him half shocked.

He presses against the cut on his hand from the accident with the mirror. It smarts, and he hopes the pain will be enough to distract him from his current situation, but instead it sends shivers through him that do not abate the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He is deeply aware of all the blood in his body. Blood rushing through his veins, throbbing at his neck, his wrists, his...

Well, if he cannot sleep, perhaps he can take a walk to keep his mind off things. It would be fascinating to explore the castle, and the moon is shining brightly enough that as long as he stays near to the windows he should have enough light to see by. He pulls one of the velvety blankets off the bed to take with him so he won’t catch a chill, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cape. The blanket, like the rest of the room, smells musty, but Jonathan is glad for its warmth as he puts on his slippers and makes his way over to the door.

He tries the handle. The door is locked.

Odd.

He walks back towards the bed, checking the nightstand for a key. Nothing. He tries the door again, to make sure it isn’t just jammed. The castle is old, afterall, the doors might stick. No luck. In a brief panic, he throws his full body’s weight against the door, but it still does not give.

He is locked in.

His pulse, which had only barely calmed down after the dream, quickens again. He feels his throat tighten, and the mustiness of the room suddenly becomes too much. He can’t breathe. He falls to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself and clutching so tightly that his knuckles go white. Shaking like a leaf, he tries to keep his mind from racing, but his thoughts keep going back to the strange person he thought he saw earlier, the scratches on his window, the Count’s reaction to the broken mirror and the cut on his hand... He should not have accepted this job, he is not safe here, he wants to go home. Home to England, to his office job, to his friends, to Mina… if only she were here to comfort him! She would know what to do. A light in the darkness, his Mina, always there to keep him grounded. He wonders if he will ever see her again--no, no, this is foolishness. He must stop fretting, he cannot allow himself to get hysterical. He can reassess his situation in the morning. It will be alright.

Perhaps it is all just a bad dream.

It will be alright. The mantra runs through his head until the words are meaningless, but the repetition is comforting. It grounds him until finally, finally, he falls back asleep. Still curled up on the stone floor, blanket draped over him, his body no longer able to sustain the panicked workings of his mind.

\--

But he falls back into the dream.

This time, Mina is kissing him. He gets flashes of images, distorted, frantic--she strokes his cheek, she has her mouth at his throat… She sucks hard, hard enough to leave a mark, but in a place just low enough so that his collar will cover it. (Ever considerate, his Mina.) But then he feels the sensation of pin pricks at his neck, something sharper than Mina’s teeth could ever be, pressing more deeply into his skin. He gasps, but he does not pull away. The hands he feels on him are no longer Mina’s, but someone else's, someone stronger, and he leans into their touch…

\--

When he awakes for the second time, the ache is even more intense. He is slightly confused, though, as somehow, he has ended up back in the bed. He does not remember making it back to bed, nor does he remember falling asleep, but he quickly pushes his feelings of concern down in favor of addressing his more pressing need.

The castle is old, so the walls are heavy stone; the drapes, as the Count mentioned earlier, are thick and drawn tight; the door is locked. Jonathan is secluded, absolutely alone after the Count disappeared in the hallway hours earlier. He feels a twinge of guilt, shame instilled from years of hearing whispers in school about the evils of the solitary vice of self-pollution. He should not give in. But his hand moves below his nightshirt anyway. Desire is more powerful than shame, and he almost thinks he can still feel the sensation of a tongue lapping at the wound left on his neck…

He begins stroking himself with one hand and clutches his other fist tight in the blankets. His cut burns again, but the pain is good, vivifying his arousal. He ruts upwards, envisioning that someone is there to receive him, tight and wet and hot, strong arms holding his shoulders, pinning him down, forcing him to struggle for each thrust. He tilts his head back to allow his imaginary lover easier access to his neck, which he feels is almost more sensitive than his groin at this point. The fantasy is so vivid that it is as if someone is really there, their warm breath at his throat, their lips upon him, and it excites him. His own breath is coming in gasps now, and he arches his back, leaning into the pleasure. His instinct is still to keep quiet despite it all, though, so when it finally becomes too much he moans softly as he finishes in his own hand.

Hazily, he wonders if the servants of the castle will notice the mess when they change the sheets.

\--

On the other side of the door, Count Dracula listens. He smiles, lips wet, and his eyes shine in the darkness.


End file.
